“There’s the key. All is fair—in war!” she said.
A pink tinge crept into Hetty’s cheeks, and a sparkle into her eyes as she looked at her companion.
“Don’t make me angry with you, Flo,” she said. “We can’t read it.”
“No?” said Miss Schuyler quietly, holding up the pad. “Now I think we can. This is another manifestation of the superiority of the masculine mind. Give me your hand-glass, Hetty.”
“Of course,” said Hetty, with a little gasp. “Still—it’s horribly mean.”
There was a slightly contemptuous hardness in Flora Schuyler’s eyes. “If you let the man who rides by the bluff on Wednesdays fall into Clavering’s hands, it would be meaner still.”
The next moment Hetty was out of the room, and Miss Schuyler sat down with a face that had grown suddenly weary. But it betrayed nothing when Hetty came back with the glass, and when she held up the blotter in hands that were perfectly steady, they read:
“I have fixed it with the Sheriff. Clavering’s boys had, as you guessed, been watching for Larry on the wrong day; but now we have found out it is Wednesday we’ll make sure of him. If you care to come around to the bluff about six that night, you will probably see us seize him; but if you would sooner stand out in this case, it wouldn’t count. We don’t expect any difficulty.”
Hetty flushed crimson. “Flo,” she said, “it was the letter arranging his own arrest he brought me back.”
“That is not the point,” said Miss Schuyler sharply. “What are you going to do?”